


One Starry Night

by Dolimir



Category: Smallville
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So you follow him obediently and wonder for the eleventh time why you turned left instead of right at the corner of County Road 314.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Standing in front of the intimidating walnut door, you wonder for the tenth time what you're doing in this place; wonder if, perhaps, you've finally lost your mind. The cynical part of your brain pipes in that you're in the right place if that's the case, while your more politically correct self is mortified that you could even have such a thought.

You ring the doorbell, even though you know the staff is aware that you're loitering on the front steps, has known about your presence ever since you announced yourself at the gate. You wonder if this is some sort of high society nicety, but you can't even begin to fathom the whys of such a practice.

A very formal butler opens the door and instead of sneering at you, he smiles. You didn't expect such a welcome, but it warms you none-the-less.

"Is Lex available?" you ask, when what you really mean is _Can Lex come out to play?_

The butler, Charles, you finally remember, gestures you inside.

"If he's busy, I can come back. It's nothing urgent."

Charles smiles again. "He'll want to see you."

"I don't want to interrupt him if he's busy."

"But I do." He winks conspiratorially at you. "He needs a break."

So you follow him obediently and wonder for the eleventh time why you turned left instead of right at the corner of County Road 314.

But you know why. You were bored and you remembered Lex's eyes as he sauntered into the Talon earlier in the day. While others no doubt saw the self-assurance and confidence that he wore like an old comfortable suit, you saw the eyes of a little boy who desperately wanted to be asked to play. Of course, if you ever voiced this supposition out loud, your friends would think you were quite mad, or at least madder than usual.

Charles opens the door to Lex's study and announces you. The surprise in Lex's eyes makes you want to laugh. Yes, it's nine o'clock, but it's not a school night and you're not twelve anymore.

Concern nudges away his surprise as he rises and moves around his desk. "Is everything okay?"

Your gaze shoots over to Charles and Lex immediately understands. "Thank you, Charles. That will be all."

The butler nods graciously and pulls the door closed behind him as he leaves, but not before he gives you another wink.

"Are you busy?" you blurt out before Lex has a chance to speak.

"Nothing that can't wait."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I was just trying to get a jump on a project that will be going into full gear next week."

"Good."

"What's this all about?"

But instead of answering, you take his hand in yours and are surprised to find that they're not as soft as you always imagined they were. You expect him to protest as you pull him toward the door, but he doesn't.

Oh, you can see the burning curiosity in his eyes, but you can also see him making the conscious decision to trust you.

When you reach your vehicle, he raises an eyebrow, but you just point imperiously toward the passenger side of the vehicle, rewarding him with a smile when he complies.

The fifteen-minute drive is made in total silence, but it's anything but awkward. You can practically feel him unwinding after he decides to go with the flow.

A relaxed Lex is so very different from the Lex you normally encounter. He seems...almost boyish as he glances curiously at you, although you know he's trying to figure out what it is you want from him.

His brow crinkles when you pull next to the old windmill in Potter's Field.

"What's going--"

"C'mon." You modify your voice so that it's part encouraging and part challenging. You've double dog dared him and he knows it.

His eyes narrow, but you just laugh as you pull your backpack off the floor and get out of the vehicle.

With no other explanations, you start climbing the windmill. You realize you're being terribly unfair to him. After all, he came with you with no questions asked. You don't quite understand why you're pushing him and yet you sort of do.

When you reach the top, you don't bother looking down. He'll either follow you or he won't. The decision is his and you don't want to influence him - much.

You unhook the backpack from your shoulder and pull out a picnic blanket. It's older than dirt, but soft. It'll provide ample protection against the hard boards.

Once you spread the blanket out, you lie on it and look up at the night stars. A few moments later, you can hear his progress as he climbs up the ladder. He starts off tentatively, but grows surer the higher he ascends. When he reaches the top, he stops momentarily, then joins you on the blanket.

"Have you ever seen so many stars?" you ask once he's settled.

He tells you about his time on Niihau, which makes you ask him about surfing. He tells you a story that makes you laugh so hard that you're seriously afraid you're going to roll off the platform. He then tells you that if you ever tell anyone else that he'll deny it with his dying breath. While it's tempting, you know you'll never tell anyone because you know he's just given you something precious, something he's never given anyone else. Understanding his gift, you tell him your own embarrassing story while you pull out cookies and a thermos of hot chocolate from your backpack.

When he chokes on a cookie while laughing, you slap his back vigorously even as bizarre headlines of his death pop into your brain. For the next hour, you both try to top each other's silly stories. You declare him the winner after you spew hot chocolate out of your nose when he tells you about his father's chauffeur, a chicken and a case of pop rocks.

When the wind turns colder, he suggests that maybe it would be a good time to call it a night. He then surprises you by going down first, but staying so close that if you should slip, he could catch you. You're touched by the gesture and blink back unexpected tears, which are thankfully gone by the time you reach the ground.

The ride back is as quiet as the trip to the field had been, but the difference is palatable. The air is practically singing with humor and companionship.

When you reach the mansion, you escort him to the door then tweak his nose. Before he can say anything, you bop yourself down the granite steps.

"Chloe?"

You turn around and raise an eyebrow when you see all the questions in his eyes. Why?* What do you want*? Why tonight?

But what he says is, "Thank you."

"Anytime," you tell him.

And you mean it.


	2. Pariah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe as One Starry Night.
> 
> Written for Drkcherry.

When you first came to Smallville, you were considered something of a pariah. Your humor was too sophisticated; your clothes too hip and good Christian children didn’t know how to react to your worldliness. Or at least that’s what Missy Cartwright had implied in the ninth grade when she gave you her reasons for not letting you on the pep squad.

What it all boiled down to was the fact that everyone thought you were too big for your britches, which at the time you had to look up because you thought they might be pants but you weren’t sure.

If it hadn’t have been for Clark Kent and Pete Ross, you might have done something overly dramatic in an angsty teenage way that made your father mutter prayers under his breath when he thought you weren’t around. Instead, you had cohorts who thought you were weird, but still liked you anyway because neither of them quite fit the mold of small town life either and you all understood there was safety in numbers.

Over the years, you found your niche in journalism and your tormenters learned very quickly that if they were nice to you they might have good things said about them in the school paper. Having access to everyone never made you Miss Popular, but it did smooth your way through the corridors of Corn High.

That is until you were doused with meteor-laced truth serum and got a favorite teacher removed from her position, despite her being a fugitive from the law.

In a town where the life expectancy for any given teenager didn’t exactly inspire confidence, one would think people would be more forgiving. Hell, if the cheerleading grapevine were to be believed two certain football players had experimented near Crater Lake because of your one time abilities. Shouldn’t they, at least, look at you more kindly?

And aren’t you an idiot for worrying about such inconsequential things like high school politics when you’ve taken on Lionel Luthor himself?

While you had defied the odds of reaching seventeen in Mutantsville, you were going to finally meet your maker because your curiosity got the better of you and you pissed off a very dangerous, very wealthy man, who had everything to lose and no qualms about using his considerable resources to keep that from happening.

So much for winning a Nobel Prize before you turn twenty-five. Hell, so much for your graduating.

You wipe the tears off your cheek with the back of your hand, furious at yourself for losing your composure, trying desperately to ignore the tiny voice who is shocked that you aren’t screaming out your brains. However, the screaming you want to do is so much different than the tantrums you used to throw for your father’s benefit, which usually revolved around not wanting to talk about horridly morbid topics like safe sex, tampons and when you were going to face your feelings for Clark Kent. Because you know if you start screaming, you might not be able to stop.

You would certainly give everything you currently own to spend a few minutes with your father, who was sequestered somewhere on another continent because being anywhere within a ten foot radius of you could, in all likelihood, be considered a death sentence.

A pariah, once again. But this time you’re without Clark and Pete because as far as everyone knows, you’re dead.

While awaiting to testify against Lionel Luthor in the double murder trial of his parents, Chloe Sullivan, 17, was tragically killed, along with her father, when a gas pipe in their safe house malfunctioned and caused an explosion which could be heard nearly five miles away. Police have ruled out foul play.

So not the obituary you wanted for yourself. And how strange was it to be placing your life in the hands of the son of the man trying to kill you?

The phone rings and you automatically look at the clock.

One o’clock on the nose.

Lex.

For a moment you consider just letting it ring, but you know if you do that he’ll just call Craig, who’ll give you that slightly disappointed look that makes you want to smash things into little pieces.

“Are you okay?” Lex’s voice washes over you before you can even formulate a greeting.

“Yes. I’m fine. Really.” A part of you wants to know why you’re lying and you know it’s because you just can’t bear to talk about things at the moment.

“No, you’re not.” And just when did he become psychic?

“No, I’m not,” you admit reluctantly.

“You know, I can always replace Craig.”

You never doubted for a second that Lex has the house bugged, but you’re surprised that he seems to be watching the tapes. “No, I can handle him.”

“You’re bored.”

“Yeah. A little.”

“What can I send you?”

“You’ve already done enough, Lex. You saved my life. You don’t need to keep me entertained as well.”

“But I’m told I’m fairly entertaining.”

You can’t help it. It just slips out. “Says who?”

“Feeling feisty, are we?”

“I don’t know. Are we?”

“Yes. Yes, I believe we are.”

A smile spreads over your face. You don’t know how he does it, but he never fails to make you smile.

“I can come over tonight.”

“You don’t--”

“But what if I want to?”

“Why?” you ask softly.

“I find it invigorating to play Scrabble with someone who can actually beat me.”

“What you really mean is that you’ve been scouring the dictionary and you have new words you’re dying to try out on me.”

“When did I become so transparent?”

You open your mouth to give him a zing, but there’s something in his voice that let’s you know that he really wants to know. “You’ve always been,” you say softly. “To me.”

He’s silent on the other end of the phone.

“It’s your eyes.” And you wonder what the odds are of the earth opening up and swallowing you whole. Considering that you’re in Troy, Kansas, which is hours away from Smallville, you’re fairly confident that the chances are pretty nonexistent.

“Fair enough,” he says quietly. “Note to self: In the future, wear sunglasses while playing scrabble with Chloe.”

And just like that, the laughter’s back.

“Tonight.”

“But it’s a work night.”

“Good thing I’m the boss then. Huh, mom.”

“Just…be careful. Okay.” You worry constantly about him. His father has already tried to kill him twice. Lionel would no doubt consider it quite the coupe to take you both out at once.

“I will.” You can’t help but feel a surge of warmth flow through you as he makes his promise. You try to lie to yourself and say it’s because you’re bored out of your mind, but you know better…and somewhere deep down you suspect that he might too.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

A warm hand cupping your cheek and chin startles you from a deep sleep. You’re groggy and confused and your heart is racing a hundred miles per hour. You start to open your mouth to scream –

“Chloe. It’s okay. It’s me.”

As the tenor voice washes over you, you lay back down on the couch, clutching his hand to your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, but stops his apology when you shake your head. “I got called into an emergency meeting. I thought I’d be out sooner.”

“You didn’t have to--”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

You study his face for a moment before you realize that very few people have been allowed to see the vulnerability you are currently seeing in his eyes.

“You’re tired.” The thought surprises you even as you say the words because he always seems so together, so impervious to the ordinary.

He starts to deny your accusation, but then merely shrugs. “It’s been a long day,” he says casually. You can practically see the worries of his life pressing down on his shoulders. A little piece of you dies when you realize you are one of the weights he carries.

Without thought, you scoot back against the leather back of the couch, even as you pull him toward you. He moves hesitantly and you know his brain is trying to come up with an argument about why this is a bad idea. Just when you think he’s finally found one, his body goes limber and you find him lying by your side, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You give him a proud grin, even as you unknot his tie and pull it off his neck, making sure it’s thrown on the back of the couch instead of the floor because God knows it probably costs more than your car.

He starts to speak, but you lay your finger over his lips, then move your arm until his head lies in its crook, against your breast.

Something in him flickers off and suddenly he’s no longer the CEO of a multibillion dollar international corporation, but a very tired twenty-three year old boy. One of his arms slips around your waist and you find yourself holding him snuggly against you, not only with your arms, but your legs as well.

As his body melts against yours, you hum him a very old lullaby that you remember your mother used to sing to you a lifetime ago, and rock him ever so gently until his breath evens out and you can tell he is sleeping.

For weeks he’s been protecting you. It seems only fair that you can do the same for him, if only for a night.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

As you swim up through the layers toward consciousness, you feel safe -- for the first time in months. Releasing a contented sigh, you try to focus on the world around you as your eyes flutter open, only to find a pair of blue eyes studying you.

A smile finds its way unbidden to your lips and you relax ever so slightly as it’s returned.

For a moment, neither of you speak. There are so many reasons why this attraction is a bad idea, and if it was the first time you felt it you would be more cautious. But it’s not. Ever since that evening on top of the windmill in Potter’s field, you have buried your feelings down deep, knowing that in the grand scheme of things you are a nobody and multibillionaires do not fall in love with high school juniors even if they weren’t born and raised in Hicksville. They might feel gratitude or even protective, but it wouldn’t be love. These worldly truths didn’t stop the fantasies, but you’ve always been a realistic person.

“I’m not a nice man,” he says in a voice that suggests he’s been awake for a while – and thinking.

“I do read the newspapers, Lex,” you remind him with a certain amount of affectionate exasperation.

“Most of the stories are true.”

“And your point is?”

“I may turn into my father some day.”

You find his hand and once again bring it to your chest. “No you won’t.”

“Chl--”

You shush him by laying your fingers over his lips. “I can’t save you, Lex. But I can walk by your side.”

“Do you promise not to turn psychotic and try to kill me?”

You grin at him. “You really do know how to take all the fun out of a romance, don’t you?”

His grin is so boyish that you actually feel your heart grow in your chest.

“One day at a time?” he asks.

You nod. “One day at a time.”


End file.
